“’Tis better if ye don’t show your face inside the keep,” Thomas said, holding Rory’s arm. “I’ll find Lady Sybil and bring her here.”
Rory paced between the stalls while he waited for Thomas to return with Sybil. He was making the horses nervous, so he made himself stop. Finally, he heard hurried footsteps approaching and the rustle of a gown. He rushed across the dark stable, ready to gather her in his arms. When he saw the woman’s silhouette in the doorway, he came to an abrupt halt, and his spirits fell. This woman was not Sybil.
“Praise God you’ve come back.” Lady Margaret was distraught, and she gripped his hands. “Ye must take Sybil away from here before my husband does something dreadful.”
***
A flash of lightning lit the room, followed by a roll of thunder that shook the floor beneath Sybil’s feet. The violent storm brewing outside echoed the turmoil inside her. As she listened to the rising wind and watched the lone candle flicker, she wondered how many hours she had until dawn, when Finnart would take her away. She guessed it was well past midnight, but the passage of time was difficult to gauge when one had nothing to do but wait.
She fought sleep, not because she expected to conjure up a means of escape, but because she knew there was none. She refused to lose her last hours of freedom to sleep.
When the latch rattled, Sybil’s heart froze in her chest. But the night was still black. The guards would not come for her until dawn, and they would never be so quiet. Her sister must have slipped away from her husband’s bed and come to comfort her. Sybil scrambled to her feet and put her ear to the door.
“Margaret?” she whispered.
Relief washed through her at the answeringclick, click, clickof the key turning in the lock. Praise God, Margaret had the key!
Sybil stepped back as the door swung open. “Mar—”
Her sister’s name died on her lips as James Finnart filled the doorway.
“I’ve waited far too long to wait another night for you,” he said, and pulled her against his hard chest. “Sybil Douglas, you belong to me now.”
CHAPTER 11
Sybil managed to grab the candlestick from the table as Finnart backed her against the wall. When she raised her arm to strike him, he lurched backward and crashed to the floor. She stood still, holding her candlestick over her head as she stared down at Finnart’s body sprawled at her feet.
Slowly she looked up from his inert form and blinked at what surely was an apparition.
“Sybil.” Rory stepped over Finnart’s body and swept her into his arms.
“It’s really you.” She sagged against him and buried her face in his chest.Praise God!After so many others had deserted her with far less cause, she could hardly believe it.
Her Highlander had come back for her.
“We haven’t much time,mo chròi.” Rory turned to Margaret, who had hurried into the room behind him and closed the door. “Sybil will need a set of warmer clothes. We’ll be traveling through the mountains.”
“But how did—” Sybil began.
“We’ll talk later.” Rory held her face between his hands, and the intensity in his eyes silenced her. “Every moment ye remain in this castle, you’re in danger.”
“I keep some old winter clothes in here,” Margaret said from across the room, where she knelt before an open chest. She gathered a bundle of clothes, tied them together, and gave them to Sybil. “Ye must go quickly.”
“I hate leaving ye here.” Sybil embraced her sister. “I’ll worry about ye.”
“You’ll worry aboutme?” Margaret said. “You’re the one traveling through the wilds to God knows where.”
“Come with us.” Sybil turned to Rory. “We can take her, can’t we?”
When Rory nodded without hesitating, Sybil wanted to smother him in kisses.
“We’d have to steal a second horse,” he said, as if that was a small matter.
“I beg ye, come with us,” Sybil said, gripping her sister’s hands.
“My place is with my husband. Besides,” Margaret said, placing her palm on her abdomen, “I can’t travel with a babe coming.”
Sybil could not argue with that. Margaret had difficulty carrying a babe without riding for days, or perhaps weeks, through rough terrain.